Hallowe’en Story: The Silk Road

Posted on October 31, 2016 by escapepublishingblog

by Jenny Brigalow

The sky was bright with diamante light and a silvery moon. A sly breeze slid through a gap in the warped window frame. A curtain flicked and brushed across Jack’s face. He sat bolt upright in bed, senses on red alert. A cry of dismay slipped through his teeth as blackness spread over the window pane.

Inside his chest, his heart raced like a hot-rod. It was back! His teeth clenched at the sound of the moth’s frantic, desperate tap, tap, tap, tapping. On and on it went as the beast gyrated up and down. He felt as if its wings were in his head brushing across his brain. It drove him mental. Completely crackers. Then his mind conjured up his father’s gun. A flush of relief rippled through him. Of course. He would shoot the shite.

The moth froze. Jack observed it nervously. Was it his imagination or was it bigger? His eyes swept over the thick furry body, the groping, slender feelers and wide wings. The brilliant pink tip of its abdomen scraped over the glass, swollen, glistening and pulsating. Gross. It was bigger; the velvety wings extended past the glass and beat their crazy tattoo on the wooden frames.

And then it was gone.

Jack let out his breath and sagged down onto the bed. His whole body quivered like a spot lit wallaby. Then his spine stiffened as the moonlight blotted out. Like a cannon ball, the moth came back. It hit the window like a missile. The pane cracked.

“Shit!” Jack shot back and slithered over the edge of his bed. For one mad moment he considered waking his dad. But he swallowed the idea like an undissolved aspirin. That would be an embarrassing conversation. “Hey, Dad, will you just come and kill this scary moth for me please?” A man had his pride. No. He’d just have to sort this himself.

Before he lost his nerve he slid out the bedroom door, padded barefoot down the creaking boards and onto the back veranda. There he paused, senses probing the familiar landscape. All seemed quiet. Gum trees slumbered and cast long moon shadows. The only sound was his breath rasping in and out of his lips. A pulse hammered in his neck and Jack slapped a hand over the spot, scared the moth would hear. He nearly pissed himself when a soulful howl slapped the silence. Dingo. He forced his feet down the steps, leapt across the gravel path and flew inside the shed door. Too scared to switch on the light, he fumbled and stumbled until his fingers found the smooth comforting length of the rifle. He lifted it, broke it down, and peered down the sights. Loaded.

Jack stepped back outside and raced down the long length of the house. At the corner he paused, suddenly unsure. Maybe he’d just sneak back in and kip on the sofa. But then his ears caught the familiar sound of wings buffeting his window. Frustration and fury ignited in his belly and he set off with newfound determination. Rifle ready, he moved swiftly, circling around. With luck it’d never see him and he would blast it with both barrels.

And, for one deeply satisfying minute, Jack felt a wave of victory. The moth seemed insensible to all but its own frenzied quest. Smoothly, carefully, he lifted the rifle and took aim. But, as his finger squeezed the trigger, the moth dropped away and took flight. Jack swore violently. He lost sight of it. And then he spotted it silhouetted against the sky. He took off, racing across the garden and the paddock. At the boundary fence he paused. He peered into the forest. It was dark. The moth, if it was there, was hidden. As Jack turned to go, his eye caught a glistening thread of light upon the forest floor. Curious, he wiggled through the sagging strands of barbed wire and crouched down to see. It was a silk road. A long string of caterpillars moved sinuously along the silk strand away into the trees. Without hesitation he followed.

On and on it wondered, through clumps of lantana, down dry creek beds and across dusty dirt roads. A burned out shell of a house loomed like a cluster of broken teeth. The MacDonald’s old place. The old ruin was a long way from home. Maybe he should turn back. It was then that he realised that he no longer had the gun. He continued on. Finally, behind the ruined homestead, the trail ended. Jack looked up at the ghost gum that gleamed softly in the moon light. His eyes roved up its smooth skin and into the gnarled and ancient head, adorned with mistletoe and stag horns. Cicadas strummed a ghostly serenade and the wind whispered secrets into the ears of leaves. He looked down at the forest floor. At his feet the ground dappled. Half hidden in shadow, a shimmering metallic mound hugged the bole of the tree. Jack sucked in a lungful of eucalyptus air and stepped back, sweat bursting from his pores as the mound split apart.

His mouth opened wide as a dark shadow emerged from the cocoon. He waited, taut as high tensile wire. She stretched, and her feelers unfurled. Beneath the dark, downy skin her sinews flexed and rippled. On thin, bony feet she came. Jack could smell her. Like fruit and honey.

Sharp fingers flickered across his chest. Jack held his breath. Shadow fell across his face as her wings unfolded and wrapped him in a velveteen embrace. Jack looked up into eyes that glittered like wet coal. And he waited to see if this was heaven or if it was hell.

The End?

My book setting: Argyll

Posted on April 28, 2016 by escapepublishingblog

by Jenny Brigalow

My family tree is actually more of a forest, but one of the bonuses of such a convoluted life has been a Scottish connection. My late stepfather, John, was a Scott.

When I was a young woman I holidayed at the Scottish family cottage in Argyll, just on the edge of the Crinan Canal. And there I was privileged to discover Argyll, a mystical and magical place that is quite possibly the most romantic spot on the planet.

argyl5 This early contact with Scotland forged a lasting love of the land and an abiding interest in its myths, legends and history. From the highlands through the still water of the lochs and to the rugged coastline, Argyll is breathtaking.

In August 2013 I returned and rediscovered my Scotland.

It was a joy to come to know Argyll so intricately through my writing. The Macgregor plunges the reader into a romantic tale of high drama and intrigue. It is a story of the present and the past, of fantasy and fact, of love and loss. It is about a young werewoman whose life has been forged in the very bedrock of her ancient home and of the man whom she determines to make her own.

argyl4 Megan MacGregor is no ordinary woman, but then Sean Duncan is a whole lot more man than she imagines. Their fate is irrevocably tied to the ancient feuds of the clans. Behind the bleak and austere walls of Carrick Castle the Campbells are watching, and in the darkness, the hunt is on.

Where we live shapes who we are, from the clothes we wear to the food we eat. Megan and Sean are no different. Megan has a preference for Dr Martens boots and tartan miniskirts, while Sean wears the dress code of his work, blue jeans and riding boots. Sean’s diet is mainly liquid, with a penchant for a fine malt whisky. Megan sits down to sizzling, succulent seal steaks with her grandad.

It is in a misty vale that Megan finds her man: ‘Up close she could see that his brilliant blue eyes were surrounded by lush black lashes, and his upper lip was full. Quite kissable. His bare chest impressively broad, his stomach as tight as a greyhound’s. Not bad—for a mere mortal.’

argyl2 And it is in the ancient fortress of Dunaad that Sean Duncan discovers the seat of the Olde: ‘Water ran down his body like a lover. The stone beneath his feet spoke to him like a brother. And in his hand the oak staff trembled with the promise of his power.’

Argyll is beautiful, wild and remote. It is uncompromising. It is enduring. It is verdant. Come join Megan and Sean there. You won’t want to leave. Ever.

In Children of the Mist, we discovered the secret history of the Children. Now, in the wilds of Scotland, one of them has come of age…

Hallowe’en Mini-Series: When I Fell In Love With Myth

Posted on October 23, 2015 by escapepublishingblog

By Jenny Brigalow

Look Between The Lines

My Dears,

It is time to talk. Be seated. Fill your glass with rich red wine. Caste away your cares, settle down to listen.

There have always been the Children. I know, fore I walked with them through the Mist. My mother, and her father, and his father before him walked with them too. We were the keepers of the secrets and the tellers of the tales. Many names we have had, bard and jester, mage and madman.

Times change and those that walk this world must adapt or perish. The Children flourished. Until one day a new force arose. A magic of great might that threatened to extinguish the Olde. But the Children are nothing if not resourceful. They came to me and begged me to write their story into the realms of myth.

Hide us, they said, between the lines of a book. They made me an offer I could not refuse. Do this, they said, and you will be rich beyond measure and will live forever in the hearts and minds of mortals. Well, I ask you, what writer could resist? And so I did. That which was once a fact has become a fiction.

One such tale you will know well. The Count that was Dracula. Ring a bell? A monster. A sucker of blood. A stealer of souls. The stuff of nightmares.

Ew, you cry, but he’s so ugly! I chuckle. After all, my dears, the public gets what the public wants. “But that’s so old fashioned”, I hear you cry. And that, I would reply, is my point. This gothic tale was simply the seed. I sit back and watch the forest grow.

And such fine saplings shoot up. Such beautiful “paranormal” people. Subtle, sinuous and shapely. No longer the monster, but tortured souls, torn by inner tension. You sigh. Your pulse beats a wild tattoo against your breast bone. You know what I mean. You should. They are your creation. A product of your darkest dreams and desires.

So, next time you encounter a stranger with an acre of chest and cheek bones to die for, take a moment. Ask yourself, is he man? Is he a myth? Or is he something else entirely?

Of course, there’s only one way to find out. Are you game?

But the night grows old and so I bid you a fond farewell. But we will meet again – between the lines.

Yours truly,

The Mythmaker

Jenny Brigalow mixes myth, magic, monsters and men in her YA/NA series, Children of the Mist.
19229 An original paranormal YA about an unconventional girl, an unconventional boy, their extraordinary transformations, and the secrets of the Scottish Highlands.

When skater girl Morven Smith turns sixteen, she develops boobs, acute appendicitis…and a pair of pointy teeth. While she is stunned by her metamorphosis into vampire, her best mate, the enigmatic Zest, is not. For the young werewolf, Morven’s transformation is an answer to his lonely prayers.

But they are unable to celebrate their mutual paranormalcy for long — there are too many dangers, too much suspicion, and too many questions. It’s only in Scotland that Morven can learn the truth about her past. But she discovers more than she bargained for when she meets her birth family — an ancient feud between vampires and werewolves. They may both be Children of the Mist, but only one species can survive.

In Children of the Mist, we discovered the secret history of the Children. Now, in the wilds of Scotland, one of them has come of age…

Megan MacGregor has lived her life off the grid, in complete secrecy. Now she’s all grown up, and needs what every female werewolf before her has needed: a mate.

Tracking one down in the lonely wilds of Argyll will be no easy task, but Megan is no ordinary woman. When she finds Sean Duncan, she’ll do anything to keep him. But Sean has secrets and a past of his own, and Megan might get more than she bargained for in a mate.

Try one of Escape’s Rising Stars of Romance – for Free!

Posted on August 26, 2015 by escapepublishingblog

Apple iBooks Australia is promoting the Rising Stars of Romance for the next two weeks, and many Escape Authors are featured. The best part? You can get the first book in one of their series for free!

Most of these titles are also free on Amazon AU. So check them out!

House on Burra Burra Lane – Jennie Jones

Just ten days after her fresh start in the isolated Snowy Mountains, Samantha Walker trips over a three hundred pound pig and lands in the arms of Dr. Ethan Granger — and the firing line for gossip. It was hardly a ‘date’ but sparks of the sensual kind are difficult to smother in a community of only 87 people. Now there’s a bet running on how long she’ll stay and what she’ll get up to while she’s in town.

Ethan has his own issues — Sammy’s presence in his childhood home brings with it painful recollections of family scandals and a bad boy youth. When the gossip around them heightens, his life is suddenly a deck of cards spread on the table for all to see. Then Sammy’s past catches up with her… and it looks like all bets are off.